


friday night lights

by haloud



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grinding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19997836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: On a Friday night, long after Michael’s locked up at the junkyard, just as the stars come out in full, Michael lets Alex pull him across the parking lot of their old high school, across the dewy football field, and under the silver bleachers.





	friday night lights

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is not for redistribution without my express permission.

On a Friday night, long after Michael’s locked up at the junkyard, just as the stars come out in full, Michael lets Alex pull him across the parking lot of their old high school, across the dewy football field, and under the silver bleachers. The whole way, he laughs and tugs on Alex’s arm and asks him why, but Alex doesn’t answer, not until they’re hidden away like kids trying to get away with skipping class and grabbing ass. His answer comes with him wrapping them both up in a blanket Michael recognizes from his truck and backing Michael up against a beam to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, hands roaming over his chest, living and hot and vital in his arms.

All the warmth of their two bodies swaddled up in the blanket sinks deep into Michael’s core, in stark contrast to the chill of the cheap aluminum strut digging into his back. Alex pulls back, murmurs his name, and says something else too, but Michael doesn’t hear him—he just listens to the rumble of Alex’s chest and smiles against the dewy skin of his neck in a lingering close-mouthed kiss. Slowly, gently, he plucks at the hem of Alex’s shirt to get his hands underneath, to slide his palms against warm skin and feel every scar, every ridge of muscle, and the enticing line of hair leading down below his jeans

Alex hums and runs his hand from the small of Michael’s back up to rub tight little circles into the perpetual knot of tension gathered at the base of his neck, making Michael’s eyes slide shut on a soft moan.

“You’re not listening to me, are you,” Alex asks as Michael slips his fingers just under the lip of his waistband.

“I might’ve gotten a little distracted,” Michael agrees, and Alex slides his hands down Michael’s arms to wrap gently around his wrists, not pulling him away, just holding him still. He takes the blanket with him, and Michael shivers a bit as his shoulders are exposed to the cool night air.

“I just wanted to say.” Alex licks his lips; his thumbs skim gentle patterns on the insides of Michael’s wrists. “We may not have had much time, back then. But I imagined everything with you. Everything. Sex, fighting, make-up sex, cooking dinner together, owning a dog together, kissing at Niagra Falls—”

A little laugh escapes Michael, and he tries to get himself even closer, pressing his nose into Alex’s cheek. “When Mrs. Danley’s substitute showed us nature documentaries for a week straight instead of actually teaching?”

“Wh—oh my god, you remember that too?”

They both dissolve into giggling; Alex even brings his arms back up around Michael’s shoulders, bringing all the warmth back with him.

“We didn’t even have that class together,” Michael laughs into the space under Alex’s jaw, and Alex says:

“I imagined this too, though. Stupid teen movie drama stuff.” He pulls Michael closer, away from the support beam, and his fingers skim feather-light down from Michael’s neck to the base of his spine and back up again, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Sharing milkshakes at the Crashdown…driving out into the desert to make out…but this,” his eyes flick up to the bleachers above them, and a little smirk curves the corner of his mouth, “This was one of my favorites.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael’s tongue darts out to wet his lip, and Alex chases the motion, pressing in to taste him, clutching Michael by the small of his back so he can grind their hips together. The unexpected friction pulls a delicious _mmm_ out of Michael’s chest, and he lets his head fall back to bare his throat.

“Yeah. With Kyle being starting quarterback? I used to think about taking guys down here during games; claiming territory, so to speak. The crowd would roar, but you would have to be so quiet.”

Alex’s pupils are dilated big and black in the darkness, nothing like the pinpricks they’d be under white-hot stadium lights, but Michael can still imagine it in vivid detail—huffing and crying his desperate lust into the palm of Alex’s hand; trying to stay so still, every motion flooding his system with adrenaline like the movement of their hips could rock the whole world, letting everyone know what they were doing.

“There’s no one here right now,” Michael rasps, shuddering and grinding back against the growing hardness pressing into him.

“Mmm. Then what do you say, Guerin?” Alex runs his fingers around Michael’s belt, rests his hand on the buckle, applying gentle pressure—forcing Michael’s back to arch into his touch. “Want to make some old memories?”

Michael answers with a buck of his hips before he can even manage to speak, and Alex indulges him by setting a rhythm all his own, controlling the pace with that hand rubbing hard and rough at the base of Michael’s spine.

Eventually, Michael gasps out, “ _Ha—_ I would’ve, I would’ve, you know—”

“What do I know, Michael,” Alex croons back, oh so slowly bringing his other hand back around to _finally_ undo Michael’s belt. The thought of Alex’s skin on his skin in the cool night air makes Michael’s cock pulse with eager heat, and he sways in place like the motion might make Alex move _faster_ at stripping away the awful layers between them.

“Under the bleachers,” he says, swallowing dry, begging for more, “During a game. You coulda called me any time, I woulda—”

“Yeah?” Triumph and hunger in that single word, in the way he stops undressing Michael to grab his ass in a bruising grip, in the way the next thrust of his hips is so sharp and _good_ it drives Michael up onto his toes and makes him drop open his mouth to taste the air. There’s triumph and hunger, too, in the way Alex lunges forward to sink his teeth into Michael’s collarbone, exposed by the slouching collar of his flannel shirt, making a twin to the aching heartbeat between Michael’s thighs, a perfect little circle bruise that spreads the most delicious pain through his veins.

“Would’ve come for you, gone on my knees for you, even then—anything. _Hhaahh.”_

Michael can feel Alex’s cock just as hard and full all pressed against him, crashing into him and _grinding,_ ruthless friction and sensation that the two layers of denim between them keeps blunt and dulled and—Michael whines out loud, a pining sound, trusting Alex to _understand,_ to slide his hand down between them and release some of that throbbing, trapped pressure.

“Anything? Really? I had a _pretty_ good imagination back then, you know.” He bites down again and again, little nips moving up and up into the tender little spot just behind Michael’s jaw, where he stops to _suck,_ hard, hard enough to leave another bruise, this one a high and unmistakable, and Michael knows, he knows, Alex is thinking too about how they never could have done this, never could have staked any kind of claim anyone could see. Now, though, everyone will, every one of Michael’s clients, every drunk at the Pony, they’ll see how Michael fingers that spot absentmindedly, a smile on his face, and they’ll _know._

“Anything,” Michael breathes, ruffling Alex’s soft hair where it’s pressed against his cheek, leaning his head against Alex’s and just resting it there, too weak to do anything else.

“What if I’d wanted you in detention—gotten under your desk, spread your legs and got you in my mouth, knowing the teacher could walk back in at any time—” And Alex _pulls back_ from Michael, who cries out for him, tries to tug him back in, then cries again when Alex seizes his curls and jerks his head into place to look directly into his eyes. That burn—the slight sting of having his hair pulled, the sight of Alex’s burning, hungry gaze, the bitten red of his mouth—Michael’s cock twitches desperately, pathetically against the front of his jeans.

“What if,” Alex says, and he runs a single finger down Michael’s zipper, too light for him to feel it at all but so _close_ Michael whines through clenched teeth, “What if I brought you down here on a Friday night but your mouth wasn’t enough—even though anyone could walk by, what if I wanted to open you up and fuck you, claim you right there—what if I _wanted_ people to see you—”

 _“Fuck!”_ Michael fumbles his hand down to squeeze his cock as it pulses dangerously—he can already feel pre soaking the fabric, so close to coming in his pants like the kid he used to be—Alex bringing him so, so close with nothing but words, and—

“Do it. Come for me. Do it, Michael.”

And Michael does the only thing he can—obey. He frots desperately against the heel of his own hand, panting into the open air, and he _feels_ exposed, feels every ounce of intention thick and heavy in Alex’s voice. He tips over the edge with Alex’s hands on his hips, teeth against his ear, his thighs tense and shake and he comes in his pants all weak and trembling. The second he lets go, Alex jerks him around; Michael grips the support beam, rubs his flushed face against the cold metal as Alex drives against the curve of his ass until he comes too, body laid over Michael’s back so his forehead rests tenderly on the base of Michael’s neck.

Michael finds his voice some long minutes later, after Alex has turned him around again, wrapped them both back up in the blanket, after they’ve exchanged more long, lazy kisses as they both wind down.

“Anything,” Michael repeats against Alex’s mouth, and he’s rewarded with a hand sliding back into his hair to rub and tug against his scalp in slow, soothing circles. He says, “Now, too. Anything.”

“Just let me know whenever you want to make up for lost time,” Alex murmurs back, “I’ll even let you pick what we do next.”

**Author's Note:**

> i mean, i was gonna write smut for *one* day this week, yeah?  
> thanks go to chasinggshadows for the idea ;)
> 
> tumblr @ cosmicsolipsism  
> discord @ haloud


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